


Joel's Sleepless Night in Zero Gravity

by analogDemon



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Humiliation, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Other, Solo, Voyeurism, Zero Gravity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analogDemon/pseuds/analogDemon
Summary: Joel can't get comfortable when the SOL thermostat is on the fritz, so he decides to see if masturbating will help him sleep, which goes great until the false gravity gives out halfway through.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yeet.

Joel stared down at his feet as they crossed, one over the other, step by step, down the darkened satellite corridor. A bead of sweat made its way slowly down to the small of his back causing him to shiver slightly. The “Satellite of Love,” as it was so unfortunately named, could never manage a stable temperature across the vessel, some corridors unbearably muggy and others with barely any insulation between his body and the cold of space. Despite his best attempts to fill the yawning void with the friendship of the Bots it had decreased the already, admittedly, shitty living conditions manifold. Aside from never knowing when the movies begin or end (la la la),he had also irreversibly damaged the temperature controls, and the dedicated systems for detecting foreign objects, not that he cared much about the second one. He’d often wished for an asteroid to come careening through the movie screen during a particularly bad session. He couldn’t even remember which movie he’d sat through tonight, something about Hercules maybe? He was never quite sure. Once the day came to a close and he’d exhausted all his resources when it came to poking fun with the bots, everything sort of faded together. It was inherently hard to sleep on the SOL, which didn’t help his memory. The Mads had never intended for it to be a comfortable space, and though it was easy to forget, once he made his way to his improvised quarters late at night, his life of captivity and (albeit mild) torture came sharply into focus. 

He made the best of every night by slipping past the tarp that he called his bedroom door, throwing himself on his improvised bed of pillows and blankets. He usually kept his jumpsuit on, though unbuttoned. The harsh texture of the blankets was uncomfortable against bare skin and most of them were only really there for the ambience. Tonight, as it was especially warm for god knows what reason, he pushed the blankets aside and laid on his back. He kicked his boots off somewhere to the left, not worrying about specifics as they couldn’t travel far, and started to unbutton his now somewhat damp jumpsuit. He pulled his arms out of their sleeves and laying his back down on the floor, lifted his hips up to give himself more purchase in slipping it down. It was too damn hot to keep on tonight, were they facing the sun? He peeled the suit off further, pulling his hairy legs into the air and kicking them off somewhere alongside his boots. He flopped back down exasperated at the heat and pulled at his undershirt fanning himself, catching a glimpse at his slight paunch in the process, growing even more upset. A cold energy ran through his limbs, familiar old anxiety coming back to roost. He lie, listless and damp, kicking around his blankets in a childlike fit. “GOD DAMN IT, I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE.” Suddenly inspiration struck, in his stupor he had forgotten his most time honored bedtime tradition; a soothing companion to him throughout his many lonely nights, his right hand. 

Wasting no time he sighed and ran his hand under the waistband of his pants and started up a lazy rhythm. The proceedings were slow, probably because of the heat and general discomfort, but soon enough his body started to respond in kind. Turning his elbow out to get a better angle, he started to pick up the pace. Joel’s sweaty hand working away, twisting slightly to accommodate the curve of his member, not up, but to the right… something he had always been self conscious about (add that to the list.) He probably should have been more anxious about being watched, either by the bots, or the mads, but no one had given the inclination they had seen him before, and after how many times he’d done this already, what was the point? Even sweatier, he pushed his head back into the mass of blankets he used as a pillow, his neck finally reaching the air (his chin had been tucked to his chest so he could survey his work.) Beads of sweat rolled down from his face, reaching the sharp mound of his Adam’s apple and parting their ways, continuing down to his shoulders and chest. He was starting to pant now, in time with the beat of his slick hand on his cock. Whimpers and moans escaping from him, some the timorous shaking voice you would expect, but often loud and rich accompanied by shuttering pauses and twisted toes. Right in the sweet middle spot, after the preamble, fully erect, but not so close to the precipice that a sense of urgency sets in, something drastic happened. Joel suddenly felt slightly ill, and his nest of blankets seemed to envelop him. He couldn’t shake a strange feeling in his head, and though he was remiss to take his hand off of his dick, he swatted the blankets away. Suddenly full of fear he looked around his cabin and realized he (and everything he owned) had set loose and started floating. The sudden shock not doing much to abate his arousal. 

Joel instinctively started kicking around the room trying to catch onto something and anchor himself, but only managed to smack himself in the dick as he floated into a wall. Masochist that he is, he enjoyed it, letting out a wincing hiss. He slipped his hand down the wall behind him trying to find some purchase to hold onto while he gathered his thoughts. Obviously the false gravity system had failed, and in his current state, he wasn’t going to be focused enough to fix it, not that he even knew where to begin. To his knowledge he had left all those systems in tact, because he wasn’t crazy. Who cares if the movies start early as long as you can walk to your seat and still breathe. Plus the idea of a bot with the ability to simulate gravity gave him much pause, to say the least. Finally feeling a large bolt in the wall he tried to get his slippery hands to grip, but the mixture of sweat and precum on his hands caused him to slip off, with all the force he used to grip onto it. Hot, dirty, exasperated and, floating with a throbbing hard on, Joel gave up. He let himself drift into the eldritch tangle of blankets again feeling the scratchy material brush up against him enveloping his body. He felt himself naturally pivoting his hips into the blankets, his cock desperate for attention. “Well, I might as well finish what I started..” he thought, his voice sounding somehow sleepier in his head. He urged his right hand to make his way down to his waist as quickly as it could, but the lack of gravity was making the process agonizing. He managed a few laborious strokes before the inertia got the better of him and sent his hand far past his dick by accident. After a few more misses he finally gets the trajectory right and slips a slightly too tight grip over the head of his dick. He pushed down and let the inertia carry his fist into his balls, his foreskin pulled down with it. The whole thing playing out in messy slow motion. He concentrated hard, trying to keep his hand on track and his grip tight enough around his member, his slick floating hand edging him into oblivion. “Oh jeeze...oh my god….I’m gonna cum.” he thought, quickly followed by “OH jeeze? Oh GOD IM GONNA CUM?” 

Joel realized too late that orgasm in Zero gravity might have messy consequences. His mind went blank and the hot coiled feeling in his stomach tightened and burst. With a shout he climaxed, sending a sticky ribbon of cum into the air. Trying his best to avoid the floating mine, he pushed the blankets back, sending them towards the walls of his room, though in the process he sent his head veering down towards the mess. Before he had time to register what was happening the gravity came back on. There was gentle brush as his blankets hit the walls and his tarp door, the slam of his ass into the ground, and the unmistakable splat of his own semen on his face. He sat groaning, not knowing whether to rub his throbbing ass, or to wipe the mess from his nose and eyebrows. He lingered for a moment eyes shut tight, partly from the shock and pain, and because he really didn’t feel like getting the cum that was stuck in his eyelashes any closer to his eyeball.

“What a hilariously pathetic display, we’ve really outdone ourselves this time” TV’s Frank laughed through a popcorn stuffed mouth. A smirking sidelong glance from Dr. Forrester gave the impression that they weren’t done with Joel yet.


End file.
